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The Dwyers, the Cartwrights, the Haydens, the Brices, the Ishams, and I know not how many others had sent their tributes, and Honora's second cousins, the Hanburys, from the family mansion behind the stately elms of Wayland Square of which something anon. When Aunt Mary appeared, an hour or so later, Honora was surveying her magnificence in the glass.
"Well, that's what the Grimes and the Dwyers and all them calls me, anyhow," she argued, with a perfectly placid countenance. "What does your father call you?" cousin Bessie asked. "Sometimes he says 'little 'un, and more times it's 'girly. I ain't particular about names, ma'am, suit yourself," she said, without a change of expression, which was one of stolid earnestness.
"Look at the Dwyers," he'd say; "from ten acres of wheat they got seventy pounds last year, besides feed for the fowls; they've got corn in now, and there's only the two." It was n't only burning off! Whenever there came a short drought the waterhole was sure to run dry; then it was take turns to carry water from the springs about two miles.
Soot had killed the pear trees, the apricots behind the lattice fence had withered away; asphalt and soot were slowly sapping the vitality of the maples on the sidewalk; and sometimes Uncle Tom's roses looked as though they might advantageously be given a coat of paint, like those in Alice in Wonderland. Honora should have lived in the Dwyers' mansion-people who are capable of judging said so.
Soot had killed the pear trees, the apricots behind the lattice fence had withered away; asphalt and soot were slowly sapping the vitality of the maples on the sidewalk; and sometimes Uncle Tom's roses looked as though they might advantageously be given a coat of paint, like those in Alice in Wonderland. Honora should have lived in the Dwyers' mansion-people who are capable of judging said so.
The Dwyers, the Cartwrights, the Haydens, the Brices, the Ishams, and I know not how many others had sent their tributes, and Honora's second cousins, the Hanburys, from the family mansion behind the stately elms of Wayland Square of which something anon. When Aunt Mary appeared, an hour or so later, Honora was surveying her magnificence in the glass.
Soot had killed the pear trees, the apricots behind the lattice fence had withered away; asphalt and soot were slowly sapping the vitality of the maples on the sidewalk; and sometimes Uncle Tom's roses looked as though they might advantageously be given a coat of paint, like those in Alice in Wonderland. Honora should have lived in the Dwyers' mansion-people who are capable of judging said so.
Is this our daughter Mary?" exclaimed the old gentleman; "and that young spalpeen, can that be her boy?" he added, looking at me in a way which did not seem to argue much affection. "Of course it is, Mat; and is it you, Mat, the head of the Dwyers, not remembering your childer?" exclaimed the old lady, casting on him a scornful glance.
The Dwyers, the Cartwrights, the Haydens, the Brices, the Ishams, and I know not how many others had sent their tributes, and Honora's second cousins, the Hanburys, from the family mansion behind the stately elms of Wayland Square of which something anon. When Aunt Mary appeared, an hour or so later, Honora was surveying her magnificence in the glass.
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